CHAPTER ELEVEN
livia played the harp until she nearly collapsed from exhaustion, slumping into Niall’s arms. As the butler rose, lifting her up and holding her close, she clung to him, eyes bright, a wide smile stretching her lips. He murmured something about getting her to bed so she could rest. Daphne left her place on Adam’s lap and went to Serena, hoping to pass the time before her afternoon nap with some time spent out of doors.
Adam declared his intention to join them, so together, the three of them made their way to the back courtyard together after collecting spencers for both herself and Serena to ward off the cold. Despite the crisp chill in the air, lack of clouds or fog allowed the sun to shine down into the little space, making the day more pleasant than the one before it had been.
While Adam settled onto a stone bench to watch them, she and Serena retrieved the skipping ropes they had left here a few days ago. They giggled together, their slippers slapping over the courtyard stones as they practiced skipping—Serena proving far better at it than Daphne. The rope kept tangling in the hem of her gown and around her ankles, making her quite terrible at it.
Amusement glistened in Adam’s eyes as he watched them, his posture and expression more relaxed than she’d seen it since she’d known him. She wondered if her presence here had had any impact on his mood. He certainly seemed less sour than he had been all the other times she’d encountered him since his appearance in London. She wanted to believe that she had something to do with the way his mouth curved into a little smirk just now, the green of his eyes more vibrant when he was in such a relaxed state.
You are being ridiculous, she told herself.
Of course it had nothing to do with her. He was simply content, with his sister and niece near, and Olivia doing so well now that she’d weaned herself off the laudanum. She was glad for him, truly, even if he was holding her captive and refused to let her go. She had come to terms with the reality of her situation … and could admit to herself that she did not mind being his captive so much. Being able to live in Fairchild House again, surrounded by the familiar, by him and his family. Sharing his bed. She did not want for anything, except an end to this feud between him and Bertram, which was far from over. It kept her from becoming completely comfortable, as she wondered if each day might be the day Adam made his move.
She did not have to wonder for long, as it turned out.
Serena dropped her skipping rope and declared that Adam could not catch them, to which Adam asserted that he most certainly could. Which then led to Daphne dropping her own rope and taking the girl’s hand, and the two of them leading Adam on a chase across the courtyard. They dodged him by slipping through a wrought iron archway draped in greenery and down a little path leading toward the back of the small garden.
It was there they found the figure of a man standing near the gate, hands braced on the metal railing, mouth twisted in an amused smirk as he eyed them over the vines wound around the iron.
Daphne stumbled to a halt, her hand tightening around Serena’s so tightly that the little girl yelped and squirmed, trying to wrestle out of her hold. But she clung to the child, pulling her back as the man pushed the gate open and stepped into the courtyard with a grin.
Blast it, she’d forgotten about the broken latch … something that should have been fixed ages ago, but that her father had neglected, as he’d had to do so many things with them in such dire straits.
“Bertram,” she spat, wrinkling her nose at her despicable brother.
He looked as if he’d just climbed out of the gutter, his clothing wrinkled and stained with things she’d rather not guess at. His hair stood on end, and his flushed cheeks and glassy expression told her he’d obviously spent the night before and much of the morning over-imbibing.
“Dear sister,” he said, his light tone undercut by the venom in his words. “Imagine my surprise when I happened to pass by during my walk to find you here.”
She scowled at him and attempted to push Serena behind her back, not stupid enough to believe he’d happened upon them by chance. He had known she would be here.
Heavy footsteps on the path behind them warned her of Adam’s approach, stiffening her spine and quickening her breath. Though her idiot of a brother did not seem at all fazed. It was almost as if he’d destroyed his own sense of self-preservation, drowning it in gin.
Adam’s hand shot out, fisting the front of Bertram’s shirt and snatching him forward. Her brother’s feet nearly left the ground as Adam loomed over him, a snarl twisting his mouth.
“You have ten seconds to get off my property before I snap your neck,” he growled, his voice trembling with a force that told her he was barely holding himself in check—and likely only because of Serena, standing there clinging to Daphne’s clothes.
Despite his precarious position, Bertram laughed. “Then I suppose I ought to state my business quickly. You see, I happened to encounter a man who once served as my father’s steward… a man who says he was let go once you took up residence at Fairchild House.”
A sinking feeling in the pit of Daphne’s gut made her feel wretchedly ill as she realized Bertram had them over a barrel before he’d even declared the rest. A household’s servants were privy to many of its secrets and could usually be counted upon to be discreet. But a man who had worked for her father, who had been let go and cast out by the new resident of the house, would feel no loyalty toward the home’s newest occupant.
“What do I care that you’ve sunk so low you now take to drinking and consorting with servants?” Adam spat, seeming oblivious to what was coming while Daphne was far too aware.
Bertram raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. “Interesting, the things he heard and saw when coming to collect his final week’s pay from your butler … things concerning a certain sister appearing here in the middle of the night … a child fitting the description of that one, there.”
Daphne put a protective arm out as if to shield Serena, but it would change nothing. Bertram had already gotten a good look at the girl.
Adam stiffened, his shoulders drawing so tight, it was no wonder they didn’t rip the seams of his shirt. “Be careful what you say next.”
Bertram shoved away from him, a harsh bark of laughter shaking his slender frame. “No … you are the one who ought to be careful here. You see, I find it curious, the features and coloring of this child who has been hidden away in Scotland for so many years. Five years, to be exact, yes?”
Adam’s hand curled into a fist, and he drew it back as if to strike, a snarl tearing from deep in his chest. “I will kill you—”
“Fifty thousand pounds,” Bertram declared smugly, only seeming slightly threatened by the massive fist about to wreak havoc on his visage.
Adam paused, his brow creasing. “What?”
“For my silence,” Bertram added. “Fifty thousand pounds is what I require to turn around, go home, and keep my silence about the girl.”
Despite having known this was coming, indignation bristled Daphne’s spine, and she stepped forward, wedging herself between the two men and jabbing a finger at Bertram’s chest.
“Am I to believe you are blackmailing us?”
Her brother sneered. “Oh, it is us now, is it? Tell me, Daphne, what has he said or done to make you feel as if you are truly a part of his little family … as if you are anything more than a whore who warms his bed?”
Her own hands curled into fists, and she nearly used them on him, but the hold of Adam’s hands on her upper arms stayed her. She glanced back to find him glowering at Bertram, his body practically vibrating with the force of his rage.
“You see, I’ve already met with a magistrate,” Bertram added, shifting his gaze to Adam with a smug smirk. “And he assures me that the law is on my side here. The child is clearly mine, and has been kept from me all these years. I’ve been told the mother is fit for Bedlam, so it is in the best interest of the child to be placed in my custody.”
“Over my dead body,” Adam growled, shifting at Daphne’s back.
She pressed a hand to his midsection and tried to steady him, knowing that if he unleashed his wrath onto Bertram, he would not be able to stop. Serena did not need to witness such violence.
Bertram shrugged one shoulder. “I do not require so hefty a payment, Hartmoor. Fifty thousand pounds will do. I will give you three days to deliver the funds before I pay another visit with the magistrate at my side.”
He turned to walk away, but the sudden appearance of Niall threw the courtyard into chaos. The butler came stomping down the path, his face a study in rage, hands clenched into meaty fists.
“You,” he rasped, pointing an accusing finger at Bertram.
In the blink of an eye, he’d closed the distance between them, grasping Bertram’s lapels and shaking him like a rag doll. Then, his fist drew back and landed, crashing into her brother’s face, producing a most satisfying spray of blood. However, that satisfaction did not last long, as Daphne realized Niall did not intend to stop.
Serena screamed, burying her face in Daphne’s skirt as Niall threw Bertram against the fence and began pummeling him. Bertram grunted and groaned, trying without success to free himself from the butler’s ironclad hold on his shirt, unable to dodge the large fist crashing into his face, his ribs, his gut.
Glancing at Adam, she found him looking on in silence, his face expressionless, arms crossed over his chest. She took hold of his arm and shook him, eyes wide with shock as she realized he meant to do nothing.
“Adam, you must stop this!” she insisted.
His gaze swiveled to her, and he narrowed his eyes, his upper lip curling back in a sneer. “You want to save your brother so badly, little dove? Go on, then. Stop him.”
Her hands shook, one of them still on his arm, the other clinging to a shaking, sobbing Serena. “Will you allow him to kill Bertram in front of our niece? My brother is a peer, and Niall will hang if he kills him! You have to stop him!”
Adam’s stone face faltered, as he seemed to realize her concern was not for her brother, but for Niall who could never get away with murdering a peer of the realm no matter the circumstances. Glancing down at Serena, he frowned, then sighed.
“Shite,” he muttered under his breath before moving toward the two men. “Niall, that’s enough!”
The butler seemed beyond hearing him now, crouching on the ground over Bertram’s prone form, hands poised to strangle him. Bertram gurgled as the other man’s large fingers closed around his neck, kicking and flailing.
“Look away, sweetling,” she murmured, ensuring Serena’s face remained buried in her skirts.
“Goddamn it, Niall!” Adam growled, grasping him under his arms and wrenching him away from Bertram with a grunt. “Christ, you’re as heavy as a bag of boulders, you stubborn bastard. I said, get off him!”
Adam managed to wrestle Niall away, grunting and muttering curses under his breath as the man bucked and writhed beneath him, growling his rage like a rabid dog.
“Get out of here, before we change our minds and let him loose,” she hissed at Bertram, disgusted by the sight he made, covered in blood and dirt as he struggled to his feet.
He spat upon the path, staining it red, swiping his sleeve over his swollen and bloodied lip. “Three days,” he slurred. “And make it sixty thousand unless you want me to have that cretin prosecuted for attacking me.”
Swiveling on his heel, he stumbled toward the gate and threw it open, disappearing from sight.
“Get the fuck off me, damn you!” Niall growled.
“Only if you promise to go inside and sort yourself out,” Adam said calmly, keeping a knee between Niall’s shoulders. “I won’t have you going off and getting yourself into trouble. Livvie needs you.”
Niall seemed to calm at that reminder and went still with a rough sigh. “I promise.”
“I mean it, Niall,” Adam replied, seeming reluctant to let the man up.
“I said I promise, ye bloody idiot. Now get off!”
Adam stood, and Niall came up onto his knees, sitting back on his haunches with a scowl marring his features. His bruised knuckles were stained with Bertram’s blood, and more of the same splattered the front of his shirt and its cuffs.
Glaring up at Adam, he stood staring off down the path Bertram had just taken, his hands opening and closing in threatening spasms, causing the veins along the backs to bulge and pulsate.
“Well, then,” Niall spat. “What are ye goin’ to do about it, Hart?”
Daphne’s blood ran cold at Adam’s response, a tremor rocking through her as his words fell in her gut like a heavy stone weight.
“I’m going to kill the bastard.”
Adam threw open the door of the chamber he’d been sharing with Daphne, a chunk of wood paneling flying loose and sailing through the air when it hit the wall from the force of his entry. He paced to a sideboard Niall had just stocked that morning and lifted the brandy decanter, tearing out its stopper and pitching it across the room. He did not see where it landed, but heard the tinkle of glass when it shattered. He drank straight from the canister, the burn of the liquor scorching a fiery path from his throat down into his gut. The flames of his anger roared hot, and it was all he could do to keep from tearing the entire chamber apart. The surface of his skin felt too tight, and his heart beat a cadence of bloodlust.
Motion in the doorway drew his gaze to Daphne, who stood in the opening watching him with a grim expression. Her mouth a firm line, hands folded demurely before her, she inclined her head.
“Adam, we must be rational about this,” she said, her voice low but steady.
It was the first thing she’d said to him since his announcement in the courtyard, but they were the words he’d expected to hear. Because, of course, she would try to convince him to be rational about this. She could never understand that he was beyond logic now. His careful plans and war strategies had all crumbled into dust the moment that whoreson had laid eyes on his Serena.
“Rational,” he spat with a sneer. “He’s seen her, Daphne. He knows she’s alive, that I’ve kept her hidden all this time.”
Nodding, she came into the room, approaching him slowly … as if afraid he might hurt her. In his present state, he could make no promises, so it was best she kept her distance.
“I know,” she said, keeping her voice lowered and her gaze locked with his. “But it doesn’t have to end like this, Adam.”
His fingers tightened around the neck of the decanter, and his hand shook as he lifted it for another swig. It did very little to calm his nerves. He was a bundle of nerve endings twisted inside out and exposed to the elements, a keg of gunpowder ready to explode.
“He is in a position to take her away from me,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “To take her away from her mother. I will not let him do that.”
“Then we shall simply have to find a way to outsmart him,” she reasoned. “You’ve done that all this time. I know you can—”
“He’s her father by law,” he snapped, shaking his head. “And if word gets out that Olivia suffers from a malady of the mind … No, I cannot risk it. And if I pay him, it will only put me at his mercy. He can extort money from me until the day I die. If I give in, he’ll only ask for more and more to keep our secrets.”
“I agree that you should not pay him,” she replied. “But, what you’re proposing—”
Her words choked off on a gasp when he advanced on her, dropping his brandy bottle to the floor. Ignoring the liquor sloshing over his boots and staining the rug, he grasped her shoulders and shook her, his teeth clenched so hard, his jaw ached.
“Will you pretend you’re still trying to protect anyone other than your cunt of a brother now, little dove?” he rasped, his blood boiling, his stomach twisting violently when faced with the evidence of her obvious loyalties. “He isn’t here, and Niall is no longer at risk of facing the gallows, yet still you try to save his life. Does precious Bertie still mean so much to you, even after all he’s done? Perhaps I was right about you, after all … you prefer your innocence and your pretty little cage over the realities I have shown you!”
She shrugged out of his hold and slapped him so hard, his left eye watered, his cheek blooming with an annoying sting. Striking him again, she sneered, her eyes blazing with blue fire.
“You bastard,” she growled, putting both hands against his chest and shoving him, causing him to stumble over the fallen brandy decanter. “You heartless, uncaring son of a bitch! After all you’ve put me through, I still believed you, I still took your side in all this … I turned my back on my family, and still, it is not enough? I have no more innocence! My cage was destroyed! I have nothing except the world you wrecked, leaving me in the rubble as if I meant no more to you than an insect!”
Her words did not make him feel any better, even if they reminded him of all the ways she’d proved her loyalty to him. They only served to make him feel worse, the unwelcome sensation of guilt once again gnawing at his gut. He shoved it back down relentlessly, reminding himself that it was no fault of his she’d come to him so innocent and naive. If anything, she ought to thank him for exposing the charlatans in her family for who they truly were and freeing her from her gilded cage.
“He has to die,” he argued. “He even deserves it.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “He does. But if you think my interference means I give a bloody damn about the man who exposed me as a whore to the entire ton, who ruined dozens of women without a care … then you really do not know, do you? You have no idea that I’m trying to save you.”
He scowled, blinking several times as he tried to make sense of her words. “Save me? From what? Your brother stands no chance against me.”
She looked away, but not before he noticed the glimmer of tears in her eyes. His belly clenched at the sight, his cock surging against the fall of his breeches. He wanted to kiss the skin at the corner of her eye, taste the salt of her pain just before taking her down to the brandy-soaked carpet and sinking into her bollocks deep. With the object of his rage no longer within his sights, he had very little recourse for easing the tension making his muscles grow tight.
“Perhaps he does not,” she relented. “But what of Serena or Olivia? What of me? Should the ramifications of this act fall onto us—”
“It will not,” he interjected, reaching out against his better judgment and taking her face in his hands. “Do you hear? It will not, because you are mine, and I protect what is mine.”
She winced when his fingers dug into her jaw, his grip speaking of the overwhelming possessiveness that swept over him in that moment. Even when the urge to murder her brother overwhelmed him, he could not fight off another, more visceral desire … the need to remind her that she was his, that nothing would change that.
“Does it bother you to think of me touching you with bloodstained hands?” he murmured, coming closer, until his body brushed hers. “Will you spurn me when I return bathed in your brother’s gore? Is that it, little dove?”
She trembled, whether from fear or desire, he could not tell. Nor did he care. He would have her when he wanted her, regardless of her own feelings on the matter. They both knew how easily he could turn her fear into lust.
“It is not your hands I am concerned with,” she whispered. “But your soul, Adam. Taking a man’s life is not the same as destroying his livelihood. Putting a gun to a man’s head and pulling the trigger is not the same as coercing him into doing it himself. Do not commit the one act you cannot take back once it is done.”
Her words took him aback, yet again, leaving his head spinning and his stomach roiling as he tried to make sense of her—this woman he knew so well, but failed to understand in so many ways. Even after the mess he’d made of her life, after the things her father and brother had done, a part of her remained untouched and pure. Did she truly believe there was any good left in him—that he even had a soul worth redeeming?
“What remained of my soul died the day I laid eyes on Olivia in that asylum,” he whispered. “So, you see, little dove, you are worried for nothing. I will kill Bertram, and I will do it without an ounce of hesitation, remorse, or regret. When I am finished, we shall all return to Dunnottar—yourself included. I suggest you send word to your servants to have your things prepared for the journey. We will procure them on our way out of London.”
At her shocked expression, he grinned.
“You did not think I’d let you go, even now, did you?” he teased, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her lips. “Not a chance, little dove.”
She scowled, shaking her head. “Surely, you cannot expect me to simply return to Scotland with you, to go on being your … your …”
“Whore?” he finished for her, unable to help another laugh at the way that word turned her cheeks pink and dilated her pupils. She could pretend to hate it all she wished, but he knew how it spoke to her wanton nature, how she reveled in acting as his whore every night when the sun set and the darkness masked their salacious deeds.
She frowned. “Adam—”
He tightened his hold on her jaw, silencing her protests. “I always get what I want, little dove. Do you really wish to fight me, and force me to prove that to you yet again?”
She lowered her gaze and sighed, but shook her head, and he released her, satisfied with that. Perhaps she was angry with him now, but she would soon understand that this was all for the best. Bertram had yet to answer for exposing their agreement to the entire ton, and now, he had threatened to destroy his family by taking Serena and ousting Olivia’s condition, as well. It could not be allowed to stand. As long as Bertram lived, he would always be a threat.
So, he would end this once and for all, and then, he would return to Scotland where he belonged. His little dove belonged there, too, and once they were safely ensconced there, everything would be as it was, and she would remember. She would thank him, she would be grateful, and she would be his.
That evening after dinner, Daphne waited until Adam had hidden away in the drawing room with the pianoforte and a bottle of brandy, closing himself off for what she hoped would be hours. Then, she went in search of Niall. Her stomach had been churning all day, her hands shaking so badly, she was surprised she’d been able to feed herself. Adam’s declaration had echoed through her mind relentlessly.
I will kill Bertram … without an ounce of hesitation, remorse, or regret.
She believed him, of course. He’d given her no reason to doubt that his murderous rage toward Bertram could not someday manifest into a physical threat. In truth, she found herself surprised it had not come to this sooner.
Despite knowing this had been inevitable, she could not help the unease twisting in her gut … the feeling that once Adam committed this one act, things would never be the same. Simply taking the people under his protection back to Dunnottar and pretending everything was as it had been would not mend matters. The anger in his gut would never be assuaged, not when he still clung to it like a rabid dog with a bone, refusing to let go. Perhaps her brother did deserve to die, and yes, he had brought this all upon himself. Yet, a part of her wanted to fight this, to find some other way to solve the dilemma without being forced to watch Adam go off to kill her brother.
Not because she wanted Bertram to live, but because her heart ached over the possibility of what it might do to Adam. It was so ridiculous, she almost laughed at herself aloud. Foolish Daphne, her soft heart yearning for a man who could never truly love her, not when her name tied her to his mortal enemy. Even if he killed Bertram, Adam would never be able to see her as anything other than a Fairchild, the daughter, sister, and niece of the men who had destroyed his entire world.
No matter. Even if he could never care for her the way she cared for him, she would save him. She would save him from himself, even if he tossed her aside afterward, changing his mind about wanting her. Even if he scorned her. Even if he hated her for it.
She found Niall coming from the wine cellar, a bottle of what had once been her father’s best burgundy clutched in one fist. Now, she supposed it was Adam’s best burgundy, as everything within these now walls belonged to him … including her.
“M’lady,” he said, glancing up and coming to a stop in the middle of the corridor. “Is there something’ ye’re needin’?”
She smiled at his formal address of her. She would have preferred he called her Daphne, but supposed ‘m’lady’ was far better than the silent glaring he typically subjected her to.
Grasping his arm, she propelled him through the nearest door, closing it behind them after peering over her shoulder to ensure they were not seen or overheard. The steady flow of music still came from the drawing room, so she did not worry over Adam discovering them.
“I need your help,” she said, pressing her back against the door.
Raising an eyebrow, Niall set the burgundy on a nearby table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I s’pose ye want me to help ye talk him out of it.”
She sighed, running a hand over her bedraggled coiffure. “He cannot go through with it, Niall. You hate my brother as much as he does, but even you must see that.”
The butler studied her in silence for a long while, his bruised knuckles a potent reminder of the events of that afternoon in the courtyard. She shuddered at the memory of all that blood, of Bertram’s swollen face and unsteady gait as he’d walked away. Niall had been fit to murder her brother with his bare hands.
“Hart’s a hard man ’cause he’s had to be one,” Niall replied. “But he’s no killer.”
Her eyes widened as she realized the butler agreed with her. “Then you’ll help me.”
He scoffed. “And have him turnin’ all that rage on me? I’m no fool, lass. Once Hart gets it in his head that somethin’ must be done, there’s no stoppin’ him.”
Pressing her fingers to her temples, she tried to stifle a growing headache. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?”
Niall raised his eyebrows at her sharp tone, then smirked, his gaze turning knowing. “Well, I’ll be damned. You actually love the bastard.”
She scowled at his inference. “Of course I do not. How could I after all he’s done?”
“He does you, ye know,” he replied with a shrug. “Too much a fool to know it, but it’s true. Why else would you two be so bloody mad for each other? It defies reason.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but then clamped it shut, knowing she would never be able to reason with the man. Of course she did not love Adam—the man who had coerced her into their fateful agreement and ravaged her body in every way possible. The man who had set about her destruction every chance he got, just because he knew it would serve to further infuriate her brother.
“Will you help me or not?” she asked, hands braced upon her hips. “I cannot do this without you, as Adam will never let me leave the house alone, and I need to be able to leave in order to execute my plan.”
He pursed his lips, tapping his chin with his index finger as if thinking it over. “So ye’ve a plan, then?”
She nodded. The idea had come to her over dinner, a way that they could intercede before Adam had a chance to carry out his own agenda.
“I do,” she replied. “And it will work, but only if we can convince Adam that I need to go to my townhouse to prepare my own things. He wishes me to have my servants do it, but we must come up with some reason I must be the one … and if you insist you can escort me, then he might relent and allow me to leave. Please, Niall.”
After staring at her in silence for another long moment, he heaved a heavy sigh and nodded, though it seemed reluctant. “Aye, then. I’ll help ye. But, if we’re caught, ye’ll take the fall for it, lass.”
She grinned and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek with a loud smack. He grunted, patting her back, then setting her away from him. His ears had flushed red, but he glowered at her.
“Dinnae think this makes us friends, me and you” he groused.
She gave him a sly smirk and choked down a giggle. “Oh, never that, Niall.”
Grunting again, he picked up the burgundy and stalked out of the room, leaving her behind. She pressed a hand to her stomach and took a deep breath, her mind eased now that she had an accomplice. Next, she must enact the first part of her scheme … ensuring Adam was placated enough to trust her out of his sight and outside Fairchild House.
Squaring her shoulders, she left the room and set off to the drawing room. If he thought that she’d given up, then he might believe she truly meant to passively accept his dictates. There was only one way she could do that.
Pushing open the drawing room door, she found him still seated before the pianoforte. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she lingered in the doorway and observed him. His posture, hunched over the instrument in only his shirtsleeves and breeches, the brandy decanter resting within reach. She was surprised to find he’d drunk very little, seeming to get enough succor from creating the music that seemed such a part of him.
He went still, his fingers pausing on the keys just as they had that fateful night in Dunnottar, when he’d attacked her, dragging her to the music room to dispose of her virginity with all the savage passion roiling in his veins.
She shivered at the memory, frozen in place as he threw one leg over the bench and turned to face her. She felt certain she hadn’t spoken or made a sound; yet, he’d responded to her presence in the room as if he were as aware of her as she was of him.
Leaning back against the enclosure covering the keys, he inclined his head, studying her in silence. Despite having just been immersed in his favorite pastime, tension stiffened his body, showing in the taut cords of his neck and the firm line of his mouth. He simply sat looking at her, seeming to wait for her to do or say something.
So, she obliged him, closing the door behind her and making her way toward him. Her steps were light and sure, her anxiety melting away as she drew closer and noticed the evidence of his lust—his cock a mouthwatering outline through his snug breeches. As always, she marveled at the strength of his desire at only the sight of her.
His gaze bored into her as she came to a stop just before him, then sank to her knees on the carpet. She heard his sharp intake of breath, but kept her eyes down, her head dipped in submission. His long legs were spread, bent at the knee, allowing just enough space for her to fit between them, her hands resting on his powerful thighs. The hard muscles relaxed against her palms, his breath coming more rapid as she caressed him—smoothing her fingertips down toward his knees, then up toward his groin. Every inch of him that she could see relaxed and unwound, and she could not help a little smile.
He’d needed her, even if he did not wish to admit it. He might not care for her, but there was something about her that he needed, craved even. Why else would he so relentlessly keep her bound to him even when she fought?
There would be no fighting tonight. When he reached out toward her, she arched her neck, laid her cheek in his palm, and closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into a place of surrender. It was what she needed to do to gain his trust.
Perhaps it was even what she needed to assure herself she was doing the right thing. She was doing it for him … all for him.
Her skin prickled with warmth as he stroked her cheek, his thumb caressing her lips. He tilted her head back so she looked him in the eye, his expression open and portraying his lust, his need, the conflict he likely did not wish her to see. The warring emotions that made him such a volatile mix of love and pain, pleasure and torment, right and wrong.
She opened her mouth for him, flicking her tongue out to lap at the pad of his thumb. They groaned in unison, eyes locked, a shudder seeming to afflict them both at the same time.
He slipped his thumb between her lips, and she fastened her mouth around him, closing her eyes and suckling.
“Fucking hell, little dove,” he whispered, his voice tinged with lust and awe. “You’ll drive me mad before long, you know. I fear you already have.”
Her chest ached at his admission, the part of her that craved his affection blossoming and growing as if bathed with light. In his own way, it had been an admission of his weakness for her.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him again, releasing his thumb and edging closer. So close, she could lower her head into his lap. Which was exactly what she did, bringing her palm over his erection and pursing her lips to kiss the tip of it at the same time. He groaned, bucking his hips as she massaged him through his clothes, nuzzling him, drawing in his scent and reveling in the feel of him growing harder at her fingertips. Before long, he reached down and snatched open his fall, gripping her hair in one hand and his cock in the other.
Shutting her eyes once more, she surrendered to his control, relaxing her jaw as he shoved toward the back of her throat. He groaned, his hips coming up off the bench as he pressed her head down, choking her, trying to go as deep into her as he could, mindless now from the pleasure.
She let him use her, closing her lips around him and suckling, offering no resistance against his control. Her nipples tingled, drawing into tight nubs, her cunt pulsating and clenching from hunger and need. A hunger he would sate, but only after he’d had his way, gotten what he wanted. He fucked her mouth for what felt like hours, groaning and shuddering before spending in a rush, muttering oaths under his breath and stroking her hair.
“Such a good little dove,” he whispered when she released him from her mouth and fell against his leg with a gasp, fighting to catch her breath. “So good.”
She nuzzled against his thigh, reveling in his praise, his satisfaction becoming her own. Even as her body screamed for release, she found contentment in his relaxed state, at having been the cause. They sat that way for a long moment, his fingers soothing her stinging scalp and rubbing away the abuse from his yanking fingers.
Then, he was grabbing her beneath her arms, lifting her into his lap. She gasped when he spread her legs to hang over his, snatching up her gown and grasping her buttocks, pulling her so they were connected, his cock flaring back to life against her mons. He sighed, burying his face in her neck, nuzzling, kissing, biting, all while grinding her against him, coating himself in her wetness.
She shuddered in his hold, closing her eyes and tipping her head back as he bit her shoulder, causing stars and pinpoints of light to explode behind her eyelids. He snatched down the front of her bodice to expose her breasts, his breath racing against her skin as he brought a hand from under her gown to cup one, kneading it and pinching the nipple until she cried out. Then, he was soothing her with flicks of his tongue and soft pulls of his lips, before going back to inflicting his brand of torment, scraping her with his teeth.
By the time he’d grown hard enough to enter her again, he’d reduced her to a writhing, panting animal. She clawed at him, undulating in his lap as he nudged his way as far as he could reach, touching the parts of her that never ceased to send lightning strikes of pleasure deep into her womb.
Cupping her buttocks, he dug his fingers in, dragging her pelvis against his at the perfect angle to stimulate her clit. She gasped, already so close to falling apart that she could hardly fight it. He seemed to realize it, too, keeping his gaze on her face as he did it again and again, moving her the way he wanted, his hips rolling in sweet counterpoint to hers. He panted against her cheek, his lips and teeth nipping at the line of her jaw. Then, he was kissing her, his tongue invading her mouth and his lips smothering her moans.
The kiss proved her undoing, triggering her release. She shook violently, groaning into his mouth as her hips bucked against his, her insides squeezing him, drawing him in deeper. He made an answering sound, but went on drinking from her mouth, refusing to pull away until she had spent completely, going silent and still atop him. She could only cling to him then, her head lolling against his shoulder as he stood and fell to his knees on the floor, then laying her on her back and coming on top of her—all without dislodging their connection. She spread herself wide for him, dropping her knees open and arching her back, opening her hands when he fit his palms against hers.
He held her hands for a brief moment, squeezing her fingers, then shifted his grip so that he had her wrists pinned above her head, her arms pulled taut. Then, he was fucking her in earnest, his body colliding with hers, pounding her into the rug. Another climax loomed on the heels of her first, and a scream burned in her throat, trapped by the breath she held while waiting for it to wash over her.
Adam lowered his head to capture a breast in his mouth, sucking with pulls she felt deep in her core, exacerbating the pounding spasms threatening to overtake her. The insides of her thighs grew sore, and she’d be bruised in the morning, her shoulders aching from being held this way, her neck and breasts marked from his mouth and teeth. But she wanted it all, wanted Adam just the way he was now … cruel, and demanding, and beautiful.
Her scream finally released when she came, her second climax even more violent than the first, making her back bow up off the ground and her toes curl into the rug. Then, he was following her, resting his pelvis in the cradle of her hips and spending inside her yet again, searing her insides with his seed, bathing her inner channel with his essence.
Releasing a sigh, he let go of her wrists and dropped his head, resting it in the crook of her neck. Daphne lay beneath him, her harsh breath ringing out in tandem with his. This would be the second time he’d spilled his seed inside her, and she wondered if it would take, this time … if the first time had already rooted itself inside her.
As she closed her eyes and breathed in the heady mixture of his scent and hers, she cursed herself for a fool for what felt like the hundredth time. Not just because Niall’s words proved truer than she’d been willing to admit, but because the thought of having a part of Adam growing inside her was not as frightening as it should have been.